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This is an odd little film of immediately post War Britain that grew on me the second time I watched it. The first time I was somewhat confused plus I simply couldn't understand the actors and their thick British accents when they spoke rapidly. The second time though, it grew on me. In spite of the fact that the viewer knows everything and it is the police who are trying to find out who the murderer is.

A woman is killed near a local fair, strangled, and apparently there have been several of these types of murders - all unsolved - over the last year or so. Scotland Yard is called in on the case. They beat a path to the actual murderer's door almost immediately, but they don't know that and the murderer is playing it cool. So much so that it is awhile into the film before the viewer knows that this guy is the murderer and not just some moody eccentric fellow with an exaggerated penchant for punctuality and that this is not going to be some kind of "wrong man" story. And it can't hurt that the murderer is from a respectable household and is a respectable businessman as far as giving the police pause.

So in this film the accent is on the inner turmoil of the murderer, apparently tormented by the knowledge that his grandfather was a hangman. This is the kind of weird slant on things that I saw in the silent film "Hangman's House" - insinuating that people who hang murderers who were convicted by somebody else and sentenced by somebody else are the actual murderers. Plus back in this time people still believed that genetics were destiny rather than possibility. As the murderer's inner conflict intensifies, the rather haunting score of the film becomes louder and more constant.

The second time watching it, I noticed that this film was most economically shot. You never even see the first victim of the film, and subsequent scenes are shot outside or in small rooms. No elaborate sets seem to have been built. This tends to make post war British films high quality in the acting and plot departments since apparently there was not lots of money for art design.

I'd recommend this one. Just don't get the idea that it is a police procedural or a noir because it really is neither of those.

Eric Portman (Viktor) is the grandson of a notorious hangman. His grandfather's sadistic, psychotic reputation as a killer plays heavily on Portman's psyche. Actually, it does more than that - it influences his behaviour. However, he is unable to change who he is. A serial killer is at large murdering women and goading the police. Can Roland Culver (Inspector Conway) and his team prevent the killer from striking again and again....?

This film contains some dodgy accents, in particular, a very posh bus driver as played by Derek Farr (Jack) and a young Scottish woman, Jenny Laird (Jeannie), who comes from absolutely nowhere in Scotland. There are humorous moments eg, Stanley Holloway's portrayal of "Sgt Sullivan" and Gerard Kempinski as a waiter, alongside tense dramatic sections, eg, the murder of Jenny Laird (Jeannie) in the park. I found Barbara Everest as "Mrs Colebrooke" slightly weird b t it's a minor point in an otherwise convincing tale of a killer who is born to kill. We are left in no doubt as to who the killer is from the beginning and this adds to the tension throughout the film. I thought that the killer's fate was rather convenient - an easy way to end the film - but it's still a good film.

Don't be put off by the generic title. This is a film of subtlety and grace.

Eric Portman is perfect as the troubled protagonist. Dulcie Gray enchants as the vulnerable yet strong-willed heroine. And the supporting cast is uniformly excellent.

This is a variation on the Jack the Ripper theme. Someone is strangling young women, sending notes to Scotland Yard in advance. Ronald Culver is absolutely right as the chief inspector on the case.

The psychology may be painted with slightly broad strokes. But the acting elevate that: The pain felt by all concerned is palpable. We do not admire the killer but we have understanding of the person's behavior. The victims and would-be victims are touching. And the attempts by secondary characters to help are persuasive and upsetting to us.

This is not a whodunit for one knows the identity of the killer ;it's more psychological drama,and some of its aspects somewhat predate works like Hitchcock 's "strangers on a train "(1951): the mother is omnipresent in the miserable murderer 's life,and in his house ,he only sees women such as his auntie and the servant ;although she notices he's always gone at night , the mother seems to want to ignore what might lay beneath : she knows the family has a history of family of mental illness,but she tries to reassure herself by saying he takes after her and soon he'll find the right girl and settle down .But isn't it already too late? The scene in the museum means a lot: he does need someone to lean on , but by introducing the right girl from the first sequence , the screenwriter (Powell's collaborator, Pressburger) creates a blind alley at the same time : the nice bus conductor.

Other similarities with Hitchcock's 1951 thriller:the fascination for amusement parks ,the final sequence in the island (which appears earlier in "stranger on a train" ). Both murderer are well respected men .

With his aristocratic look,his refined manners , Eric Portman gives a restrained performance but behind the mask,he conceals an intense suffering ; he may show infinite tenderness when he holds the girl in his arms ,and the murder is almost unexpected (directing avoids horror and treats the sequence in a stunning way)

How ironic that Eric Portman's opening volley should be an ill tempered retort to girlfriend, Dulcie Gray for leaving him HANGING about for an hour and a half. Her plausible explanation of a prolonged delay on the Tube failing to quell his ire.

Portman is Victor Colebrooke, a man not so much haunted, as fully immersed and entirely consumed by the spectre of his deceased father, a notorious hangman in the late Victorian era, for whom job satisfaction was off the scale, as he wallowed in the morbid pleasure of the ultra-brief working relationships he forged with his clients and a sadistic smugness at his prolific turnover. His infamy recognized by a waxwork on display at Madame Tussaud's chamber of horrors in his dishonour.

Any expectations of a murder mystery, whodunnit, or a final 'Cor, I never thought it were 'im!' are quickly dispelled and if you think for a moment that amorous, affable bus conductor, Derek Farr isn't quite the ticket, he immediately proves to be a fare minded all-round good guy.

No! 'Wanted for Murder' is a largely grim parable, offset by a couple of surprisingly comic moments, portraying Portman's inherent insanity and morbid passion for killing, targeting young women in London parks after dark, rendering them post dusk no-go areas in the process. Further, he taunts detective Roland Culver with postcards, not of the 'Weather beautiful, wish you were here' variety, but with chilling predictions of where he intends to strike next. Yet, between the lines lurks a cryptic cry for help and a veiled self-loathing.

'Wanted for Murder' plays out as a sombre depiction of a man imprisoned within himself, enduring a meltdown into murderous madness, and the brittle breakability of the 78 R. P. M. Record: Several smashed accidentally by a gramophone shop manageress and one deliberately in a fit of rage, by Portman. Was it on RCA, Victor?